


Definitely, possibly, maybe

by Fatale (femme)



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 20:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13418697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale
Summary: At his feet, Chairman Meow cries piteously to be fed, and Magnus shoos him off. Plenty of time for that later -- he’s at a delicate juncture of the potion, the slightest movement could spell disaster. The good Chairman will understand. They’ve done this plenty of times before.He does not, in fact, expect the cat to jump onto his table, upsetting the bottle of dragon’s teeth perched precariously on the edge, flipping one small piece into the bowl. The potion turns a sickly green, it bubbles and smokes. Magnus has one split-second to think,Oh shit.---Side effect: telepathy. It's not as much fun as Magnus thought it would be.





	Definitely, possibly, maybe

**Author's Note:**

> Been sick forever. Needed a little pick-me-up. Which means I'm writing this in the import work section of Ao3 in some kind of mad fever dream. Who knows what you'll be reading.

 

 

 

Magnus is a genius, a god among men. He’s the High Warlock of Brooklyn. He’s one of the most powerful warlocks in the world. Well, probably top 10. The point is, he’s got this. He stirs the potion counterclockwise.

At his feet, Chairman Meow cries piteously to be fed, and Magnus shoos him off. Plenty of time for that later -- he’s at a delicate juncture of the potion, the slightest movement could spell disaster. The good Chairman will understand. They’ve done this plenty of times before.

He does not, in fact, expect the cat to jump onto his table, upsetting the bottle of dragon’s teeth perched precariously on the edge, flipping one small piece into the bowl. The potion turns a sickly green, it bubbles and smokes. Magnus has one split-second to think, _Oh shit_.

And then there’s nothing.

 

\---

 

Magnus wakes up sprawled in an inelegant tangle of limbs.

“Fucking _ow_ ,” he mumbles as he pulls himself to his feet. Chairman Meow rubs against his ankle soothingly. “Now you want to help,” he hisses.

He runs hands down his body, assessing the damage, breathes a small sigh of relief when he doesn’t feel scales or a tail.

Alec’s coming over later. He doesn’t mind Alec seeing him a mess, not really, but he’d rather not if he can help it. He limps to the bathroom, pretty sure he hit the ground ass-first, which puts a kink in his plans for the evening. Luckily, Alec is also in possession of a fine caboose, so all is not lost.

He strips off his clothes and takes a hot shower, grateful that for once, nothing terrible seems to have happened. He’ll just get dressed, pop over to the liquor store to pick up some spirits to raise his. The cold air will do him some good

 

\---

 

The first person that passes him on the sidewalk says, “Lay off the eyeliner, buddy. Wear more makeup than my wife.”

“Yes,” Magnus replies, eyes narrowing, “we should all dress like you. Clothes make a statement, _buddy_. Too bad yours is, ‘I have no taste.’”

At the man’s confused look, Magnus says, “Oh, I thought we were both sharing dumbass opinions that no one gives a shit about.” Possibly, his potion being a spectacular failure has made him a little snippy. But still, _fanny packs_.

“Hey, fuck off,” the guy says, walking away, clutching his fanny pack lovingly.

Fucking Brooklyn, Magnus thinks. Gentrification is a hell of a drug.

At the liquor store, a woman eyes him while Magnus is perusing the whiskey selection. Were he not spoken for, he might try to make small talk. She’s gorgeous.

“I’d take him for a ride,” she says. Magnus looks around, confused. Him? They’re the only ones here. He turns to stare hard at the woman, who looks increasingly nervous. “Oh, Jesus,” the woman says, dropping her eyes, “I’m alone with a crazy person.” She puts the bottle back on the shelf and hurries off, still not making eye contact.

He had been watching her -- and creeping her out, apparently -- but her mouth wasn’t moving. There’s no one else talking. Which means--

 _Holy shit._ Magnus has superpowers.

 

\---

 

He debates not telling Alec until he arrives later. It’s not that he doesn’t want help figuring this out, it’s just that Alec can be so very frustratingly opaque sometimes. Most Shadowhunters are.

It would just be nice, for a change, to know exactly what Alec’s thinking without having to ask, without worrying that Alec’s telling him what he wants to hear. He trusts Alec, but he trusted Camille at some point, too.

In the end, he calls Alec to let him know there was an accident with a potion, he’s okay, but he seems to have picked up the _slight_ gift of telepathy as a result.

“Excuse me?” Alec says.

“Telepathy,” Magnus repeats happily.

“Doesn’t sound like much of a gift.”

“Alexander,” Magnus explains patiently, “it’ll help me with clients. I’ll know who’s planning to renege on payments. I mean, I know I can’t keep it forever, but being a human lie detector seems like a pretty useful tool.” He does not add that it’ll help him know when Shadowhunters are keeping secrets from him, because he doubts that Alec would like him to know Clave business, nor appreciate the reminder of a time when he kept a pretty important secret from Magnus and it nearly ended them.

By Alec’s silence, his mind has already stuttered down that unpleasant path. “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he says, sounding resigned.

Magnus hangs up the phone, already a little sorry. So far, he has insulted a random guy, scared a lovely young woman, and brought up old painful memories for Alec.

Still, this telepathy gig could be a good thing, Magnus tells himself.

 

\---

 

_Oh god, oh god. What’s he gonna hear? Don’t think of sex, no, that’s okay, he’d probably enjoy that._

Alec’s thoughts are a whirligig cascade of nervous energy, one bouncing off another, impressions and half-mumbled sentences.

Magnus laughs, delighted, until he stumbles across, _I really hate it when he sticks his tongue in_ \--

“How could you?” Magnus yelps, deeply offended. “You told me you loved that.”

“You seemed so proud of yourself,” Alec mumbles miserably, covering his eyes. “You seemed to think it was so hot.”

Unbidden, Alec’s thoughts come to him: Alec’s sorry, he never wanted to Magnus to know, Magnus--

“I grunt during sex,” Magnus repeats, voice low and dangerous.

“In an appealing way,” Alec says quickly. Absurdly, he moves his hands to his ears, as if he can keep Magnus from rifling through his brain. “I should probably go,” he says loudly, looking _terrified_.

“My hearing isn't damaged, you don't have to yell,” Magnus says, but Alec’s still covering his own ears.

Magnus tries, unsuccessfully, to center his mind, to keep from delving into Alec’s thoughts any more than he can help. Now that’s he’s aware that Alec’s keeping so many secrets from him, it feels uncomfortably like a gross invasion of privacy. He shouldn’t have done this.

Alec points at the door, eyes wild. “Yeah, so I’m going to go. Do that thing I have to do.” He trips over a rug in his haste to scramble out the door. A lot of people have been running away from Magnus lately, it seems. The front door slams.

Magnus sits on the floor, alone. That did not go how he thought it would.

 

\---

 

Word spreads. No one visits Magnus. He feels a little like Typhoid Mary, Hester Prynne with a scarlet letter, Saint Sebastian, beset on all sides--oh _Christ_ , ok, he knows he’s being overly dramatic. He’ll just fix this.

He makes himself a cup of tea and messages Catarina.

When she arrives, she studies him closely. "So it’s true,” Catarina says. _What has this fool done now?_  she thinks.

“Hey,” Magnus says. “Did I give you shit when you turned yourself bright purple for a month or did I immediately start working on a cure?”

“First, you laughed for ten minutes straight,” she replies, mouth softening into a grin, “but then you did help me.”

She’s worried about Madzie; the patient that came into the ER last night with a GSW, who has three kids; she misses Ragnor terribly, who had a lower tolerance for Magnus’ bullshit, but was generally more amused by it.

She’s tired. He can see it in the delicate skin around her eyes, the sallowness of her skin, but he _feels_ it now, borrowed fatigue weighing down all of his limbs. A side effect of the telepathy, no doubt. His powers are either growing stronger or it depends on the emotional attachment of the subject.

“You don’t have to help. I can figure this out on my own,” Magnus says softly, taking her hand. “You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

“I know,” Catarina says, brow furrowed. “I want to, though.”

She does, Magnus can feel her desire pulsating between them like a living thing. “Okay,” Magnus says, “but let me know if you need any help. You’d do that, right?”

“Of course,” Catarina says with a grateful smile. The cloud of worry swirling around her seems to lighten, infinitesimally. “Now explain.”

Magnus tells her what happened, walks her through a few possible solutions while Catarina pokes holes in them. Magic is as much science as art and there are basic principles that are steadfast, and he’s aware Catarina is better at the theory part than he is. Ragnor was even better than them both, but he can’t be asked, for obvious reasons. Magnus rubs his chest absently, where he suspects Ragnor’s loss will always hurt, small and painful, tucked away just under his ribs.

After, Catarina decides to pay Tessa a visit to talk over the issues -- Magnus is not welcome in the Spiral Labyrinth in his current state, too many secrets there -- with a promise to get back to Magnus as soon as possible.

 

\---

 

One unnerving trip to Pandemonium later, Magnus decides he’s really got to fix this. Aside from the gratifying fact that yes, a lot of people would like to sleep with him, other people’s thoughts are not so flattering. He knows most people are kind of terrible, capable of a smallness that he finds mystifying, and he has never, ever wanted to know what that many folks thought of him.

Working isn’t an option, since he mostly takes clients that secure his services to erase memories, get revenge on lovers, or any other manner of unsavory things. He doesn’t need to read their thoughts to know they’re horrible, as likely to pay him as not, and fear of retribution is always the best motivator. The anger and hatred he encounters daily feels slimy and black against his own thoughts, and no matter how many showers he takes later, he feels them, clinging to his skin and underneath his nails.

Magnus can’t text Alec anymore, he needs to _see_ him. He misses him too much.

 _Come over_ , he texts. He’d go to Alec himself, but as word of his particular malady has spread, he doubts he’d be welcome there, either. Magnus knows he loves Alec, plans to stay by Alec’s side as long as he lives, but he hadn’t known how much he'd come to rely on him. It’s exhilarating and terrifying to be in this position again.

He sinks into the couch, knees weak, and watches his phone, mentally counting in his head how many minutes it’s been. He gets to thirty and puts his phone down, feeling sick. He has a headache, gathering behind his eyes and he squeezes them shut.

Unexpectedly, there’s a frantic knock on his door. He gets up, wipes his eyes and composes himself before opening the door to see--

Alec, red-faced and holding his side. “Everything okay?” he huffs, eyes scanning Magnus up and down worriedly.

Magnus is at a loss for words. “You didn’t text,” he settles on, lamely.

Alec holds up his phone, screen black. “Battery ran out. Was out on patrol and figured it was faster to just come here than look for Jace or Izzy to use theirs.” He shifts from foot to foot. “This seemed more important.”

This boy really does keep surprising him in the most extraordinary ways.

Alec’s worried, a little embarrassed for running all the way here, decides he doesn’t care, afraid of what Magnus might hear. He thinks Magnus’ pants are really tight and distracting, he wonders if Magnus’ neck ever gets sore from wearing so many necklaces, Magnus seems ok, maybe he shouldn’t have rushed over.

But buried beneath all that is a small light, bright and so warm it could heat a city block, so powerful it hurts Magnus to look at it directly. It’s the exact color and shade of Magnus’ eyes. It’s _love_ , he realizes.

“You can, you know,” Alec says and clears his throat, startling Magnus. “You can read my mind or whatever. I don’t have anything to hide. Well, I do, but nothing I mind you seeing.”

“Alexander,” Magnus says, voice shaking, “I should have asked.”

“It’s okay,” Alec insists. “Really.”

“It’s really not,” Magnus says, “but thank you anyway.”

Alec may be willing to forgive easily when he’s wronged, but Magnus can’t. He can hold himself to a higher standard than Alec does. He has to earn that love, whether Alec knows it or not.

He doesn’t have a choice whether to listen in on Alec; how could he not, with Alec obligingly holding himself wide open like this. But the more determinedly Alec lets him in, the more regretful Magnus feels. He’d thought he’d wanted this, all of Alec’s secrets and thoughts laid bare, but in reality, he wants Alec to show him, piece by piece, who he is. To build a foundation of love and trust so deep, Alec would _want_ to share himself, and Magnus could treasure each revelation like the gift it is.

But what’s done is done.

Since he can’t fix this, he can reciprocate. He opens his mind to Alec, and leans up to kiss him, feels himself fall into Alec, bathes in the benevolent brightness he feels there, wills Alec to feel it reflected in Magnus’ own mind, in his body.

Warm and steady, like his heartbeat, beneath Magnus’ palm.

 

\---

 

Magnus feels the slight static of a portal being opened, and he slides out of bed quietly so as not to wake Alec. He pulls on his robes, tying it at the waist, to see Catarina standing in his living room. She holds up a swirling red vial triumphantly.

“Drink up and take two aspirin. I hear it gives a hell of a hangover.”

“Give Tessa my regards,” Magnus says, giving Catarina a hug. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, babe,” she says and portals out.

Magnus holds the vial in his hands, turning it over and over, watching the red liquid swirl and cling to the sides.

Appropriate, that it should be the color of love.

Love is an act of faith, Magnus knows, devoid of reason or assurances. You choose to love someone and hope that your faith has not been misplaced. Love will always be risky, but what great reward comes without great risk?

He’s grateful for the glimpse he had into Alec’s mind, but that’s enough. He has faith in Alec; he’s worth taking a chance on.

Magnus follows the directions and makes a face as he drinks the potion. Tastes like ass and not in a good way. He drinks a glass of tap water and pads back to the bedroom, where Alec is still sleeping, face down. He presses a kiss right between Alec’s shoulder blades and Alec startles, rolls over, hair mussed and gaze a little dreamy.

“You love me,” Magnus says wonderingly. He’s known, of course, but he’d always wondered in a cold part of him, if he didn’t love Alec just a little more, if he wasn’t allowing himself to fall head over heels for someone who loves him, just not quite enough or in the exact right way.

“You reading my mind?” Alec asks. And Magnus takes him in: the languid sweep of his eyelashes, the pillow creases across his stubbled cheek, eyes wide and open.

“No,” Magnus says, gratefully, and kisses him again. “I’m not.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://unrestrainedlyexcessive.tumblr.com).


End file.
